Chapter Four

T he bed dipped beneath his knee when he placed Ryker down on the mattress.

Rather than strip the sexy outfit off of the young billionaire, he removed the man's shoes and pulled the comforter over his sprawled body.

This was a first.

Ryker didn't normally drink. Hell, the man never had but an occasional sip, so having him pass out was new. But the not drinking had been before Marshal had quit the Langstons. Now, Ryker was out of control. It shouldn't have surprised him that Ryker was acting out—after what he'd been through, it was understandable.

"Marshal," Ryker's mom spoke cooly from the doorway.

She gave him a glacial look when he glanced her way.

"Ma'am." He touched the brim of his hat.

Lydia Langston looked sleekly put together even in sleepwear. The fifty-five-year-old socialite wore her auburn hair in a messy bun and was in silky pajamas that probably cost more than he made in a year.

Her glare was not surprising. To her, he was a deserter. She didn't understand why he had left, but it didn't matter. She would stand up for her husband and son until death.

Marshal strode toward the door and she smoothly stepped aside, skirting around him to make her way to the bed.

"Robert would like a word with you," she quietly stated with her back to him.

Marshal glanced at his watch, not surprised that Langston was working in the wee hours of the morning. He nodded and stepped out into the hall. The Langston's butler, John Brown, gestured and Marshal followed the elderly man down the long, luxurious hallway lined with photographs and paintings of past and present family members.

The butler left him at the doorway to the office and Marshal stepped inside and closed the door.

At the end of the large room, Robert Langston sat behind a massive oak desk situated near a wide picture window. Beyond the window, grounds sprawled out across the Langston estate. The property and buildings had been left to Lydia upon her father's death several years ago.

"Marshal." Robert Langston gave him a stern look and Marshal almost smirked, but he wanted to see what the man had up his sleeve. No doubt this would be a ploy to get him to stick around.

With Ryker more out of control than usual, coming back was food for thought.

Should he take it?

He'd mull that over when he had time to recap. Striding across the room, he dropped into one of two brown overstuffed chairs that sat opposite the man's desk.

He didn't remove his hat and the gesture was not lost on Langston.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Langston?"

"I won't keep you long. I just need your take on this." The man tossed a thin cardboard piece of paper enclosed in a plastic baggy across the desk at him. It landed face down. "Chad has ideas about how I should handle this, but he's incompetent at best."

Marshal didn't touch the paper. He'd never found Brandon nor Chad to be incompetent. Sure, they'd let Ryker drink tonight, but that was the extent of it.

What game was Langston playing?

"Hire better help," he said, and this time he smirked. This ploy to speak with him was lame at best.

"Perhaps I'll reach out to Cobalt Security or Suwan Guardians and see if they might have an idea of how I should handle this."

The man was crafty.

Marshal eyed the paper and reached for it; he used the edge of the baggie to flip it right side up.

The message was a clear threat against the Langston family.

"This is a typical threat. You've received these in the past." Marshal sat back, leaving the cardboard on the desk.

"Not like this."

Marshal flicked his gaze to the cutout words that read I know what you've done. If he had to count all the things that Langston had done, it would take a lifetime. The cardboard also stated to give the sender money or his family would die.

"It's no different than a dozen other threats you've received." He should know, he'd been with this family just over eleven years before he'd quit and walked away shortly before Ryker's accident.

Langston stared at him from across the desk, the man's hands were clenched, knuckles turned white. A bead of sweat trickled from his hairline and beneath the hard cold gaze, Marshal imagined he saw fear.

That was certainly new.

Langston wasn't one to be afraid.

Although, fear would eventually be the man's downfall.

"Call the police," Marshal suggested, sounding bored on purpose.

"See that?" Langston tapped one finger firmly on the right corner of the cardboard.

He'd seen it.

The bloody thumbprint on the right corner of the paper. "So, the guy cut himself while cutting out the words to paste to the paper." Marshal shrugged.

"It's Ryker's blood."

Langston now had his full attention.

The room went deadly quiet.

"Do you think I should call the police?"

Okay, this was new. Langston call the police? What the actual fuck?

The man's vulnerability came through along with the question. The man was an asshole and treated his wife and son coldly, but Marshal knew Ryker was Langston's weak spot. Not even the man's wife came close. After all, Ryker was set to inherit everything when Robert died, plus he'd keep the lineage alive

"What did Chad suggest?" Marshal pressed his lips flat.

"He said to beef up security here and ride it out."

Marshal made an annoyed sound under his breath. It sounded like Chad needed a beatdown.

"I have a contact in the FBI," he said slowly, testing.

Langston's gaze turned unreadable and then the man gave a heavy sigh.

"If that's what it takes. I'll beef up security here," Langston said, clearing his throat. "How many more men should I hire? I can call Jaxon West or Fighter Suwan and get a quote."

Marshal locked his eyes on Langston.

It didn't make sense that Langston would reach out to the two men who ran Cobalt and Suwan.

But then again, maybe the man wanted to keep this on the up and up. He doubted it. However, Cobalt and Suwan were both world-renowned security corporations and both were located right there in Denver, Colorado.

Typically, Langston kept things in-house, but Marshal wasn't going to let the guy change his mind now.

"Yes, contact them and I'll contact the FBI." Marshal shoved from his seat.

"Wait…"

Marshal turned back and Langston's throat bobbed, hesitancy filled the man's eyes.

After years of avoiding the feds in his home, Langston had a choice to make.

Marshal waited.

Finally, Langston nodded. "Do whatever it takes."

"I'm on it." He turned toward the door but was stopped again.

"Marshal, I don't know why you left, but why don't you come back temporarily? Ryker only listens to you."

If Langston had seen his son dancing on the tabletop at one of Denver's exclusive members' clubs, the man might have thought differently.

He'd had zero effect on getting Ryker to stop his public display. Perhaps a few years ago, Ryker might have listened to him, but right now was not the case.

"I'll think about it," he said without turning around and strode from the room.

Two days later, Marshal entered the Langston estate carrying a carry-on-sized suitcase.

Being back there was only temporary.

"Nice place," Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the FBI, Alexander Channing, said, entering the foyer with him.

"Mr. Thomas, Mr. Channing," the Langston butler said, greeting them.

"ASAC Channing," Alex easily corrected the older man.

Marshal would have told Alex not to bother, John Brown had been with the family for years and never followed protocol nor rules to his knowledge.

"I'll take your luggage, sir," a young man said from behind John and stepped forward with a grin.

This guy was new and Marshal made a mental note to get his hands on any and all background information on all employees, past or present.

Someone on the inside had delivered the threat, that much was clear, and Marshal would root out the fucker. He handed over his suitcase to the new guy.

"Mr. Langston has set up a place for you to work," John said, leading them down a long hallway toward the West wing of the estate.

This part of the place was high-tech and an add-on a century after the original structure had been built. Marshal had had a hand in keeping the high-tech surveillance system up to date.

"Will it be only you?" John slanted Alex a judging look.

"Don't worry, Jeeves. I have other agents on their way." Alex smirked and entered the room.

"My name is John." The man stiffened like he had a metal pole rammed up his ass.

"Yeah, it was a joke," Alex tossed Marshal a pained look.

"He's set to retire soon," Marshal told John. "He's practicing."

The butler nodded as if that made perfect sense and then left the room.

"Wow…" Alex murmured, walking over to tap the keys on one of the numerous laptops before placing his briefcase on the table "He's…stiff."

"Mmm."

"Have you checked him out?"

"A long time ago, but we can do another sweep," Marshal suggested. "I want to recheck everyone."

"Sounds good." Alex glanced up from the computer. "Someone delivered that message here. And I bet that same person got Ryker's blood."

"No doubt." Marshal walked over to gaze out the window at the sprawling grounds. There were twenty-seven people employed on the estate and surrounding grounds. And that didn't include the vendors who came in and out regularly.

"You good?" Marshal shot Alex a glance.

"Yep. I have Hitch coming with a few others," Alex murmured, placing his laptop on one of the desks.

Marshal nodded, touched the brim of his hat, and left the room. He'd find the traitor in the Langston's midst.

But first, he needed to make a call.